Hands Off
by Britton
Summary: COMPLETE! The nightshift makes a wager and it's winner take all. But who will fail? Who will win the pot? And who WANTS to win a bet like this anyway? Blatantly inspired by a favorite Seinfeld episode. GCWSNGr
1. Chapter 1

**Hands Off**  
  
Humor Rating PG13

Pairings...hmm...maybe later wink  
  
Disclaimer: No one is mine. I just like to make them laugh. Or to laugh with them. Okay, yes, and at them.  
  
A/N Honestly, I can't even begin to tell you what inspired me to do this. I love _CSI _and the entire cast of characters (though Warrick is free to come on over at any time, day or night [hint hint]). I think I end up writing humor because the show is so serious and as we all know, life ain't all drama. I feel compelled to show the gang in lighter moments. Hope you enjoy! Oh yeah, this idea is blatantly stolen...um, borrowed...from _Seinfeld_.

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_Chapter 1: The Gauntlet is Thrown_

"Well, that was certainly an -"Catherine Willows paused, trying to find just the right word "-enlightening case."  
  
Attractive and brawny Nick Stokes chuckled, as he followed Catherine into the break room. "I can only agree. Just when I thought I'd seen it all."  
  
Sara Sidle and Warrick Brown were sitting across from each other at the breakroom table which was littered with forms and file folders. The pair was trying to make some dent in their ever increasing paperwork.  
  
"What's that, Nick?" Sara asked, barely looking up from her pile of paper.  
  
Nick shot Catherine an amused look. They had just returned from a visit to Doc Robbins in the morgue, who had finished the autopsy of their latest case.  
  
"Um, nothing, Sara, just our last case. We thought it might have been a homicide but turns out, an accidental suicide, of sorts." Nick managed a straight face - barely. Catherine snickered, pouring coffees for herself and Nick.  
  
Intrigued, Sara laid down her pen and looked up. "Well, this must have been good. C'mon, share."  
  
Nick took the cup Catherine offered and raised his eyebrows at the redhead. Once again, the senior CSI laughed.  
  
"Okay," she laughed. "This is one for the record books." She paused to collect her thoughts, unconsciously increasing the drama. Even the studious Warrick turned half an eye toward her, patiently waiting for the tale.  
  
"We get to the house and our vic's in the bathroom. There's blood everywhere-"  
  
"And we mean _everywhere_," Nick added.  
  
Catherine continued. "And the guy's slumped into the tub. So, David is already there and he's pronounced the guy but he's acting all freaked out and as we pass him, he bolts from the room telling us, yeah, the guy's deceased and time of death about two hours prior." Catherine paused for a sip of coffee.  
  
Nick couldn't stand the wait and continued for her. "But David just says, 'Man, this one is all yours,' and he takes off. We go in, I start the photos and Cath looks into the tub and screams."  
  
"I did not! I merely expressed extreme surprise."  
  
Nick rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever, so she screams, 'Oh my God' and I take a look. Damn if the guy's -"Nick looked suddenly at Sara, before deciding she could take the shock "stuff is there in the tub."  
  
Sara and Warrick shared a confused glance. "Stuff?" Warrick asked.  
  
Nick grinned. "Yeah, man, his...you know....stuff..."  
  
Catherine shook her head. "Leave the stories to the grown-ups, Nick. His manhood. Or manhoods, I should say."  
  
Sara's eyes flew open wide. Warrick's look was far more horrified. "No!" he breathed in disbelief.  
  
Nick was laughing. "Oh, yes! The complete set, meat and potatoes, there in the tub. Cause of death, bled out. Self-castration."  
  
Warrick had yet to regain his composure, involuntarily shuddering. Sara was just plain amazed. "He cut off his own....er....thing?"  
  
Catherine and Nick nodded in unison.  
  
"Why?" Warrick gasped at the same time Sara asked, "How?"  
  
Greg Sanders, the graveyard labrat bounced into the breakroom. "How? Plain old steak knife. Why?" The lanky DNA technician pushed Nick out of the way and helped himself to a soda from the small refrigerator. "Solid steel cock ring."  
  
Warrick's handsome face remained cast in a most horrified mask. "_What?_" His voice rose an octave from its usual deep tenor.  
  
"Seems the guy had on a ....er...cock ring? Ya know, steel ring through which a guy pulls his..."  
  
"Meat and potatoes?" Sara tried unsuccessfully not to laugh.  
  
Greg nodded. "Through the ring and then when he gets excited he can maintain it for hours."  
  
Warrick threw a stapler at Greg. "I know what it _is_, Sanders, I meant what does it have to do with why the guy..."– he struggled for words – "emasculated himself."  
  
Catherine looked rather smug. "Apparently, after donning said ring, and getting excited, he stayed that way for hours and hours and hours then suffered a severe bout of shyness. Rather than go to the emergency room for help, he tried to get the thing off himself."  
  
"Ugh!" Warrick shook visibly. Nick, having had a couple of hours to acquaint himself with the case, had become immune to the cringe-causing details, merely laughed at his friend's discomfort.  
  
Sara shook her head, unable to comprehend someone getting into such dire straights. "You guys shouldn't be allowed to have those things," she muttered  
  
Greg looked surprised. "Hey, it's not like we haven't had some weird women- type cases in here. What about that gal from Boise last year, over at the Mustang Lounge who OD'd and when Doc did the autopsy he found three billiard balls where they didn't belong?"  
  
Warrick, Nick and Greg all cast challenging eyes at Sara.  
  
The pretty brunette shrugged and admitted, "Okay, well, yeah, but you have to admit, guys have a much higher incidence of .... perversion."  
  
The three men in the room cried foul at that. "And your scientific proof of this?" Warrick queried.  
  
Sara threw her hands up, getting to the heart of the argument now. She had been on the debate team in high school all four years - now she had a chance to put it to good use. "Like, just check out any survey. I mean, come on, even the most basic masturbation statistics show 99% of all men jerk off and the other 1% are lying."  
  
Greg spewed soda out his nose, much to Nick's disgust. Catherine giggled.  
  
Warrick, unable to resist taunting Sara jumped to his sex's defense. "And what about women? It's not a male-only past-time, Sidle."  
  
Catherine, Greg and Nick looked toward Sara, waiting for her trademark acidic reply.  
  
She grinned cheekily. "Oh yeah? Find me a study that indicates female masturbation is as wide spread as male."  
  
Catherine, Greg and Nick turned back to Warrick, intent on what he'd volley.  
  
Warrick scowled through his grin. "Haven't you ever done it?" he challenged.  
  
Catherine's, Greg's and Nick's eyebrows shot heavenward as they turned back to Sara.  
  
The young woman smiled, picking up the proverbial gauntlet. "I have," she said boldly, her brown eyes never leaving Warrick's green ones. "But I'll bet not to the extent that _you_ have."  
  
Catherine, Greg and Nick all took a step backward. "Oh, ow," Greg muttered.  
  
"You assume all men have no self-control? Or just me?" Warrick asked, his voice tinged with equal parts amusement and annoyance.  
  
Sara leered. "All men. It's a known fact," she emphasized.  
  
"Hey, hey!" Nick burst out. "So you think women have more self-control than men when it comes to...to.."  
  
"You can say it, Nicky - mas-tur-ba-tion," Catherine said slowly, falling into a chuckle.  
  
Nick shook his head. "Fine, masturbation. Are you happy now?" The dark- haired Texan pointed to the women. "You two are so sexist."  
  
"_What?_" Sara turned her onslaught to Nick. "How is this sexist?"  
  
"You're assuming men have no self-control – that you women are superior to us in this respect. That is sexism, however you dress it up." Warrick chimed in. Clearly, the battle lines had been drawn.  
  
Sara leaned back in her chair, contemplating her coworkers. "Okay, fine. Why don't we put it to a little test."  
  
The other CSIs looked both skeptical and intrigued. "What do you mean?" Warrick asked warily.  
  
"Taken right from a classic _Seinfeld_ episode. Let's make a bet," she boldly proposed.  
  
Greg hooted with excitement. "Oh yeah! The episode where they all lay down something like $100 and whoever can refrain from 'self-love' the longest gets the pot!"  
  
Sara, looking Warrick straight in the eye, jerked her head. "That's the one. So, what do you boys say? Shall we make a little wager?"  
  
"What's this about a wager?" Gil Grissom, senior CSI and supervisor choose that inopportune moment to enter the breakroom. The occupants suddenly looked uncomfortable – all except Catherine.  
  
"Your junior colleagues here are setting up a challenge, Gil." She threw the older man a saccharine smile.  
  
Grissom paused, casefile folders clutched in his right hand and eyed the collected investigators. "Oh yeah? What kind of challenge?"  
  
Warrick shrugged. "A friendly wager. Sara's idea," he added for spite.  
  
"Oh?" Grissom turned a ridiculously innocent face toward Sara.  
  
"Yeah," she began hesitantly, a blush already rising in her cheeks. "Um, like on _Seinfeld_. We all agree to refrain from masturbating, and whomever falls off the wagon, so to speak, has to put say – $20 into the pot? Last one left wins all the money."  
  
It wasn't often anyone could render Gil Grissom speechless, but Sara had just done a pretty good job.  
  
"And just how are you going to manage this?" he asked, his voice still stunned.  
  
"Well, cold showers work - or trying to imagine your grandmother or–"  
  
"Greg!" Grissom yelled, "I meant, how are you going to police this bet? You'll have to trust everyone to be honest."  
  
Greg, Nick, Warrick, Catherine and Sara looked at each other, silently offering their honesty.  
  
"I think we can trust one another," Nick finally said. "I'm willing to go for it."  
  
The others nodded but Grissom looked unconvinced. "Is it just going to include self-stimulation or any kind of sex?"  
  
Sara glanced at her coworkers. "It'd have to be all sex, otherwise, what would be the point?"  
  
Catherine and Warrick looked suddenly dubious, both suspecting Sara had guessed their trump card. Catherine had been dating suave Chris Bezich for nearly six months and Warrick had just revived a hot-and-heavy romance with an ex-girlfriend.  
  
Nick, who had been leaning against the counter, stood straight up. "I'm in," he announced, grinning broadly.  
  
"Me, too," Sara grinned, laughing with arrogance. "This is going to be so easy."  
  
Greg puffed his chest. "You all have no idea how perfectly suited this bet is for my personal place in life right now. Count me in."  
  
Sara, Greg and Nick stared at Catherine and Warrick expectantly. Warrick finally heaved a great sigh. "Fine, I'm in," he muttered. His competitive nature was unwilling to refuse such a stake, especially against Sara.  
  
Catherine relented. "This is so childish," she said, her voice filled with mock indignation. "But count me in if only to show you how silly this is."  
  
"What the heck? I'll do it." All eyes turned to Grissom in horrified shock. He simply shrugged. "Hey, why not? Just a friendly bet, right?" he grinned.  
  
After a beat, Sara asked, "Who's going to hold then money?"  
  
Grissom thought for a brief moment. "Hang on," he said, already out the breakroom door. The others were speechless. Before any of them could form a coherent thought, he returned, his favorite tarantula's cage in his hand. "When one of you falls off the wagon, put your twenty in here with Betsy. It'll be safe enough."  
  
This proved acceptable to the others. "May the best CSI win!" Grissom beamed.

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

**Hands Off**

Humor Rating PG13

Pairings...hmm...maybe later [wink]

Disclaimer: No one is mine. I just like to make them laugh. Or to laugh with them. Okay, yes, and at them.

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_Chapter 2: "Women may fall when there's no strength in men" Romeo & Juliet, Act ii, Sc.3_

"So, how goes the wager?" Nick asked merrily, spying Sara in the locker room the next night.  
  
The willowy brunette smiled sweetly. "Just fine, Nick. How goes it with you?"  
  
"A-okay, Ms. Sidle. I'm already planning on how to spend my winnings," Nick drawled. "I figure that'll be in my pocket by the weekend."  
  
Sara burst out laughing. "Oh, right," she said, snorting through her chuckles. "Like that's going to happen."  
  
"What's going to happen?" Warrick asked, pulling off his jacket as he entered the room.  
  
"Nick's going to win the bet," Sara said, still laughing.  
  
Warrick shook his head in pity. "Man, you have no chance. Why not throw your twenty in now and save yourself the embarrassment," he suggested, stowing his jacket in his locker.  
  
Nick was indignant. "What is with you two? I have as much self-control as the next guy!" At their mutual looks of disbelief, Nick ranted on. "I certainly have as much as you!" He thrust a finger into Warrick's shoulder.  
  
"Oh, Nick," Sara said quietly. "You don't want to go there."  
  
"Oh, yeah, I do."  
  
Warrick turned patiently, patronizingly toward his friend, drawing himself up to make full use of his height over Nick. "Um, let's see, someone here slept with a case and someone else, while tempted to be sure, walked away."  
  
Nick scowled. After three years, Kristi was still a sore point. Nick was always torn between guilt and pity when he remembered the voluptuous hooker. His emotions were mixed with a profound sense of sadness over her demise.  
  
"Hey, the only reason you didn't do it with Lillie was because she was an addict," he shot back, his normally kind nature being pushed to the limit.  
  
Warrick raised an eyebrow and gave Nick a half smile. "But that is the point, I didn't do anything."  
  
Nick clamped his mouth shut, scowling at Warrick, who was grinning and Sara who was trying not to. He slammed his locker shut. "Fine, whatever, but that was then and this is now. I'm winning that money." Nick slammed his locker shut and gracing his coworkers with a spiteful grin, left the room.  
  
Sara shook her head. "He is so misguided," she grumbled and Warrick could only chuckle in agreement.  
  
By the time Sara and Warrick appeared in Grissom's office, Nick was already sulking in one chair while Catherine sat demurely across from him in the other. Grissom, examining files on his desk, looked up over his glasses at the new arrivals.  
  
"Nice of you to join us." Grissom had an infuriating way of making every jibe sound like a logical statement.  
  
It was Warrick who noticed the twenty in Betsy's cage, planted right in the middle of Grissom's desk. His huge smile all but lit up the room. "Hey, Stokes, my man! You took my advice!"  
  
"Ha ha," the Texan smirked. "It wasn't me, smart ass."  
  
Warrick and Sara instantly turned wide eyes to Grissom. The senior CSI shook his head, trying to restrain a grin. "Not me, either."  
  
The two newcomers' jaws all but dropped to their chests as they fixed stunned faces on Catherine. The petite redhead shrugged, her face a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance.  
  
"My sister has Lindsey for the week. How was I to know Chris was going to show up with champagne and roses." She sighed, a small smile breaking through. "It was worth the twenty bucks," she admitted with no regrets.  
  
Warrick shot a victorious grin at Sara. "See? First one out is a woman."  
  
Sara shook her head in confusion. "What's that got to do with anything?"  
  
"Women have all the self control," Nick mimicked in a high pitched voice, his hands flitting around.  
  
Sara shrugged. "Catherine was a weak link to begin with."  
  
"_What?_" the other woman leaped forward in her chair clearly not amused.  
  
Sara placated her. "I meant because you were the only one in a well- established relationship when we began this thing. It's only natural you would fail. Besides, I count that as Chris's fault more than yours."  
  
Catherine sat back in her chair, trying to decide of that was a compliment.  
  
Warrick threw his hands up in exasperation. "So, the first one out is a woman and it's all a man's fault?"  
  
Sara considered seriously. "Yes."  
  
Nick gave Warrick a sympathetic look. "Forget it, buddy, she was champion debater in high school," he admonished, regaining his good humor.  
  
Just as things settled down, Greg burst in on the group. "I've got those results from that rape at Circus, Circus," he announced out of breath. He must have run al the way from his lab. He spied the money with Betsy almost immediately. "Oh, ho! So, we're already one off the wagon!" He leered at the investigators, finally fixing his gaze on Nick. "Man, you didn't even make it one day?"  
  
"It wasn't me!" Whatever good humor Nick had regained was immediately lost.  
  
Greg straightened up, truly surprised and glanced at each of the others. He stopped at Grissom, whose expression warned the tech not to tread there. He glanced over at Sara and Warrick and received cocky shakes of their heads. Eyes wide, he turned to Catherine. "No!"  
  
Grissom, passing out cases, couldn't help but laugh. "_Yes_," he said, mimicking Greg. "Catherine, you and Nick have a heist over in the jewelry store at the Aladdin's mall. Sara, you get the B&E at the fire station. Warrick, take Greg's results and make the case. And I'll be with Brass at the YMCA. They've got a floater in the pool. Any questions?" He regarded his team seriously.  
  
Greg, all mock drama, intoned as would Rod Serling, "Who will be the next to fall?" He was immediately the target of file folders, each of the CSIs taking the opportunity to smack him as they walked out. Catherine's hit was especially hard.  
  
"Ow," he whined, trying to ward off the blows. In a moment it was just him and Grissom, staring at each other across the desk. Greg contemplated the CSI supervisor.  
  
"You know who's next," he asked, though the question came out as more of a statement.  
  
Grissom shrugged as he stood. "I only know, it's not going to be me," he said sagely, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement.  
  
_TBC_


	3. Chapter 3

**Hands Off**

Humor

Rating: PG13

Pairings: Oh, most definitely. All will be made clear - eventually

Disclaimer: No one is mine. I just like to make them laugh. Or to laugh with them. Okay, yes, and at them.

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_Chapter 3: You know "that look" women get when they want sex? Me neither. – Steve Martin  
_  
For the next several nights, Betsy remained alone with her $20. But on the fourth night, a second $20 bill appeared in her cage, the donator unknown.  
  
"Hey, whose is that?" Sara asked, parking herself on the edge of Grissom's desk and poking a finger at the tarantula.  
  
"Sara, please don't tease her," Grissom admonished. "As to whose money that is, I don't know. It was in there when I got here. I'm guessing it's not yours?"  
  
"As if!" Sara snorted. "Of course, it's not mine."  
  
Nick, Catherine and Warrick joined the others in the office, the men grabbing the chairs before either Sara or Catherine could snag them.  
  
"Such gentlemen," Catherine muttered, rolling her eyes.  
  
The fellows showed no remorse. "All's fair in love and war," Nick beamed. "People with self-control get the chairs."  
  
Catherine threw Nick a radiant smile. "At least I'm the happy one," she said smugly, leaning up against one of the shelving units.  
  
"Well, Cath, you've got company now. Someone else has indulged," Sara informed them with a bright smile.  
  
Considering the blank looks she received from Nick and Warrick, she assumed it was neither of them.  
  
Sara laughed. "Greg?"  
  
Grissom stood, retrieving Betsy's cage. "I think we should go ask our favorite labrat."  
  
The investigators made a rather loud and conspicuous convoy down the DNA lab, arousing the curiosity of the other techs. They found Greg working diligently. The young man refused to look up though he was well aware of the five arrivals now crowding his lab space.  
  
"Oh, Greg?" Grissom began, holding up the spider's cage. "Betsy seems to have become richer. Care to explain?"  
  
An instant blush reddened his fair face. Greg tried to shrug carelessly but it came off as more of a nervous twitch.  
  
"I, uh.....I.....uh...." 

"C'mon, Greggo! Out with it, man!" Nick insisted, smiling broadly.  
  
Greg took a deep breath, mustered his courage, and spewed forth the story.

"I met a girl last night at the Taco Bell drive-through and one thing led to another and what was I gonna do? Say no because I've got some stupid bet going with a bunch of over-cerebral, under-sexed coworkers?"  
  
Each of of the CSIs wore the identical stunned expression. Greg shrugged again.

"I'm smart enough to know not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I'm not some too-cool CSI who has women throwing themselves at me every night of the week. I may never get another chance." He looked pointedly at Nick and Warrick, who both scowled in confusion. Then, with genuine pride, he said, "Besides, Mandy and I have another date for breakfast. So, good evening gentlemen and ladies, may you find peace in celibacy...suckers." The tech collected himself and made a controlled, dignified exit.  
  
The CSIs were left to gape amongst themselves. Sara finally broke the silence. "Greg has a _girlfriend_?" she said more to herself than to her colleagues.  
  
Greg suddenly reappeared. "Um," he began with embarrassment, "This is my lab. You guys, uh, need to leave."  
  
Snickering, the others filed past him, Warrick bringing up the rear. He paused in the doorway and turned back to the lanky lab tech.

"You really think women throw themselves at us?" he asked dubiously.  
  
Greg considered before nodding in the affirmative. "Yeah. Don't they?"  
  
"Is this why you want to get out in the field?" Warrick asked.  
  
Greg grinned lecherously. "Well, ya know, I gotta expose myself to more of the female population. My prospects are limited down here in the labs."  
  
Warrick was bemused. "Greg, most of the women we meet in the field are....dead."  
  
Greg's face fell slowly. The tall African-American suddenly grinned, shaking his head and continued out of the lab. "Oh, Sanders, you have so much to learn."  
  
The tech remained silent for a beat then yelled after Warrick, "Yeah, well at least I'm gettin' some!"  
  
He could hear Warrick's laughter from down the hall and was left standing amid his fellow lab technicians, suddenly at the center of their unwanted attention.  
  
"Your turn is coming, buddy. Your turn is coming," he muttered to himself.

_TBC_


	4. Chapter 4

**Hands Off**

Humor

Rating: PG13

Pairings: Eventually - and it'll like cause a change of rating, too.

Disclaimer: No one is mine. I just like to make them laugh. Or to laugh with them. Okay, yes, and at them.

_

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_

_Chapter 4: Sex is like air; it's not important unless you aren't getting any. – Unknown_  
  
After Greg's fall from grace, Catherine embarked on a one woman crusade to take down another CSI. Using all her skills, she observed her colleagues for signs of weakness. At first, she could barely tell anything was amiss but after another week had gone by, the tension was steadily growing in the crime lab. By day ten of the wager, Catherine had identified the next to fall. Nick. Most definitely, Nick.  
  
She hadn't set out specifically to bring Nick down; it was more an opportunity that presented itself and she merely took advantage. She and Nick were teamed for a homicide. The victim, Jenna Magenta (both CSIs had struggled in vain not to snicker at the stage name), was a topless showgirl from the chorus line at the Tropicana. She had been strangled in her dressing room and Catherine knew Nick was in trouble the moment they entered the building.  
  
"Oh my God," Catherine heard him breathe as they entered behind stage where a dozen topless dancers all huddled together in fear and concern.  
  
"Oh jeez," she heard Nick murmur as they entered the dancers' dressing room and found the body of the equally unclothed victim sprawled on the floor, her glassy eyes staring heavenward.  
  
Catherine was sure she heard Nick groan when she crouched to take her first close look at the victim. And it was at that point that she decided Nick was a goner.  
  
"Wow!" Catherine exclaimed. "What a rack!"  
  
Nick made tortured murmuring noises above her.  
  
Grinning with malice, Catherine stood up and pulled rank. "I'll process the body. You go have a chat with Snow White and her ten naked sisters, find out everything they know."  
  
Nick muttered something unintelligible. When Catherine looked at him, she could see he was struggling, trying to decide what was actually the lesser of the evils.  
  
"Nick?" Catherine prodded, crouching down again. "Sometime this century?"  
  
Shaking his head, the handsome Texan turned back toward the sobbing women. "Warrick gets a DB at Clear Springs Nursing Home and I have to come here," he muttered, his voice nearly cracking.  
  
Catherine leaned back on her heels, dragging her field kit closer. "And no taking them two at once, Nicky." She was all but choking on her words. "One at a time."  
  
This time, Catherine had no doubt that she heard Nick give a short anguished cry as he left the dressing room. The senior CSI whistled under her breath. "He doesn't stand a chance," she told the newly departed. "Now, let's see about catching whoever did this to you."

By the time they were back in their Tahoe headed toward home, Catherine had begun to have second thoughts about her great plan. Nick was all but impossible, ranting first about Warrick drawing a case at a geriatric hospital before taking Grissom to task for assigning him to a bunch of showgirls when he knew what was at stake. Then he launched into a diatribe about Sara and women in general and how the guys should have gotten better odds because abstinence was easier for women. Catherine pointed out that she had been the first to succumb which only set Nick off on yet another tangent about how Catherine shouldn't have even been included in the original bet. By the time the senior CSI pulled the SUV into the crime lab lot, she was sure her ears were bleeding.  
  
It had taken the two CSIs nearly the entire night to process the Tropicana crime scene including the potential witnesses so it was no surprise that their cohorts were already crowded into the breakroom and downing strong cups of coffee. Apparently, judging from Greg's presence, it was his coffee in particular and he was trying, unsuccessfully, to keep Grissom from using any of it in the current brew.  
  
"Hey all," Catherine greeted her fellows. She was relieved to finally be amid relatively normal humans again, Nick's demeanor on the trip back having deteriorated to intolerable.  
  
Warrick and Sara, looking distinctly annoyed, grunted something noncommital in return.  
  
Grissom, still managing to ward off Greg, smiled brightly. "Took you long enough. How'd it go?"  
  
Catherine dropped her purse, shrugged off her jacket, and sank into the couch perilously close to Warrick.  
  
"Oh, fine –"she paused as Warrick threw her a sour look and got up, moving to the other side of the room. Catherine laughed. It was worth losing her $20 if only to torment the men. "Fine, got loads of trace. Off hand, I'd say definitely someone she knew."  
  
"Just acquaint don't –"Grissom began but Catherine cut him off.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, don't draw conclusions. I know the spiel, Gil." Catherine waved him off then suddenly realized she was missing something. "Where's Nick? He was right behind me a couple of minutes ago."  
  
The others realized that they, too, had only caught the most fleeting glimpse of the dark-haired Texan. Catherine suddenly broke into uproarious laughter, something the others found at odds with her perfectly manicured turnout.  
  
"Oh, my God...he didn't..." she trailed off. "He wouldn't..."  
  
"Wouldn't what?" Grissom asked.

"Well, the, uh, case you assigned us to? The death at the Trop? Imagine a dozen topless showgirls all sobbing over the death of one of their own." Catherine rolled her hand for emphasis.  
  
"Oh, Gris! You _dog_, you!" Warrick hollered amid hoots of laughter from Greg and Sara.  
  
Grissom considered. "So there's a good chance a certain someone should be contributing to Betsy's college fund?"  
  
After the briefest of pauses, the breakroom emptied, the five investigators rushing for Grissom's office. As expected, they caught Nick stuffing two $10 bills into Betsy's cage.  
  
"Nick!" Catherine admonished. Having spent virtually every minute of the shift with him, she was clearly shocked that he was putting in the money now.  
  
Greg burst out laughing. "You are so busted!"  
  
Warrick and Grissom just stood silently shaking their heads in disbelief. It wasn't so much the idea that Nick had failed the wager (Grissom would have calmly explained that it was inevitable) but the CSIs couldn't quite grasp when he'd had time to lose the bet.  
  
It was Catherine who innocently blurted these thoughts out. "When? I mean...I was right there..."  
  
Sara, Warrick, Grissom and Greg all turned shocked eyes toward the redhead. "Oh, knock it off, you guys. I didn't mean _right_ there."  
  
Nick's intense discomfort was clear for all to see. He looked totally, utterly miserable, as if he'd just run over his sister's puppy.  
  
"I...I..." he stammered.  
  
Warrick suddenly threw up a hand to stop the explanation. "Man, I really do not want to hear this," he gasped backing out of the office.  
  
Sara was more tenacious. Her brown eyes sparkled with mischief. "Where? You just got back!"  
  
Warrick was now visibly shaken. "And I _really_ don't need to know _that_." Even the ever-ebullient Greg looked disconcerted about knowing too many details.  
  
Grissom put a halt to the banter. "Hey, the important thing is we're down to three." He paused, grinning at Sara and Warrick, giving Nick the chance to escape the spotlight.  
  
But as Nick tried to inch past Sara, she pinched his arm. "Nice going, Quick Draw," she hissed, then laughed at the instant blush that appeared in the man's cheeks.  
  
Nick's eyes narrowed and he fixed Sara with a cold, hard stare. "Yeah, well, at least I had a sex life to miss in the first place."  
  
Normally, Sara would have taken offense but since she sensed that victory was within her grasp, she decided to be magnanimous. "You know what Germaine Greer said – no sex is better than bad sex."  
  
"Figures a woman would say that." Nick didn't wait to hear any more. He disentangled himself from Sara and pushed his way past Warrick, storming off down the hall.  
  
"So, three bad little monkeys down. Three good little monkeys left," Greg intoned, pointing to the appropriate parties. Once again, the lanky lab tech found himself at the center of belligerent glares. "I'm leaving now...back to labworld....yep, just lil' ol' satisfied me, going back to my hole in the ground...." With that, Greg seemed to disappear.  
  
Catherine contemplated Warrick, Grissom and Sara in turn. "I must say, _now_ this is getting interesting."


	5. Chapter 5

**Hands Off**

Humor

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: No one is mine. I just like to make them laugh. Or to laugh with them. Okay, yes, and at them.

* * *

_Chapter 5: Give me chastity and continency - but not yet! St. Augustine of Hippo, AD 354-430: Confessions_  
  
The dusk was a long-standing affair in Las Vegas and the sun was trying desperately to set when Catherine Willows pulled into her parking space. She was running late and though she had no time to waste, a commotion farther down the parking lot caught her attention. She spotted fellow investigator Warrick Brown in a heated argument with a long-legged, impossibly sexy , caramel-skinned brunette. She was too far away to hear their words, but their body language was loud and clear.  
  
Catherine waited and watched, a curious smile of amusement creasing her lovely features. Suddenly, the darker woman, eyes wide with shock, took a step back from an obviously pleading Warrick, her indignation clearly apparent even from a distance. She pursed her lips and delivered a stinging slap across Warrick's face.  
  
Catherine's perfect eyebrows shot skyward in surprise but she turned away, moving toward the main door, suddenly uncomfortable at where this was leading. However, her curiosity got the better of her and she slowly looked back. Warrick was standing there, immobile, his face a mask of self-control and vexation. As the woman turned on her heel and climbed into her Miata, he slowly rubbed his stricken face and watched her gun the car out of the lot. Catherine could see him take a deep steadying breath as he turned toward the crime lab.  
  
Warrick was clearly startled to see Catherine unabashedly watching him but as was his style, he quickly collected himself and sauntered toward his petite colleague.  
  
Catherine couldn't help but grin. "Trouble in paradise?"  
  
He shrugged, continuing past her and grabbing hold of the door. "You might say that."  
  
Catherine couldn't resist Warrick, ever the gentleman. He opened the door for her. "The bet?" she guessed, knowing full well what the answer was going to be.  
  
He sighed deeply. "Yeah, I finally ran out of excuses and had to explain to her why I, um, couldn't...you know..."  
  
Catherine fixed her friend with a compassionate look. "I can't say I blame her. I'd be pissed, too." She raised her hand and patted his cheek, wincing in sympathy when he flinched. "Oh, sorry," she apologized. "So now she's an ex-ex-girlfriend?" Catherine asked as she walked through the door, Warrick following her.  
  
"That's my take on it," he said, his voice filled with resignation.  
  
Catherine couldn't resist laughing. "Is it really worth $120?"  
  
"It's not the prize," Warrick answered after a beat, his face breaking into a rueful smile. "It's the victory."  
  
Catherine was still unconvinced. "Well, all I know is in the week since Nick fell out of the race, he's been the happiest person I've ever known. And that's saying a lot because he was a ridiculously happy person before this bet ever began."  
  
Warrick couldn't argue and he remained pensive, leaving Catherine at Grissom's office as he headed to his locker. When he returned to the office for the nightly assignments. Nick and Catherine were chatting merrily but Sara was deliberately staying out of the conversation, studying a tray of mounted Southeast Asian moths. Grissom must have been hitting eBay again. His collection had grown significantly in the last couple of weeks.  
  
Warrick grumbled greetings and took his post in a corner of the room. He then realized that for once, Grissom was the late. Several minutes ticked by and still no sign of the supervisor. Finally, after another quarter hour, he came bustling in, his demeanor rigid and businesslike. He tossed the night's files onto his desk, took out his wallet, pulled out a twenty and stuffed it into Betsy's cage.  
  
The four younger CSIs were agape, utterly speechless. Their boss turned to face them, his taciturn manner clearly challenging that no questions were to be asked. For long moments they all stared at each other until, finally, good-natured Nick let out a soft snicker.  
  
"Stokes, you get the dead body pulled at the sewage treatment plant off I-15."  
  
Nick's jaw dropped but when he saw Grissom's eyes narrow, he knew better than to say anything. He nodded meekly, took his file and vacated the office.  
  
"Brown, you're with him." Warrick stood, mouth open, trying to process how he'd gotten roped in with Nick but the lead CSI merely fixed him with a steely glare. "You'll need your scuba gear."  
  
Warrick exhaled in exasperation and followed in Nick's wake.  
  
Gilbert Grissom glared at the others, his blue eyes flinty and cold. Sara appeared properly subdued, or maybe it was confused, but Catherine, ever the peacemaker, readied herself to placate the older man.  
  
"Gil, it's nothing to be ashamed –"  
  
"Catherine, you get the decomposing torso found a Great Basin National Park. Have a nice ride."  
  
Catherine was anything but amused. Great Basin was more than a two hour drive. As she was trying to formulate an appropriate complaint, Sara piped up.  
  
"Grissom, don't you think you're being a little hard –"  
  
"You go with her, Ms. Sidle." Grissom's voice had taken on an sharp edge. "The torso was found in a heavy-duty plastic bag - sealed tight. In the sun. For days. Bring a bucket."  
  
Sara, showing the strain of the wager, stood up and fixed her boss with eyes sparking in anger. "You are such a sore loser," she spat, snatching the folder and marching out of the room. Catherine, still too angry to comment, followed her.  
  
After they were gone, Grissom grinned wickedly. "Yeah, but I'm a sore loser in charge of cases."


	6. Chapter 6

Hands Off  
  
Humor  
  
Rating: PG13  
  
Pairing: By default, Warrick/Sara - but probably not the way you're thinking  
  
Disclaimer: No one is mine. I just like to make them laugh. Or to laugh with them. Okay, yes, and at them.  
  
A/N: I apologize for the delay in posting this - the fabulous 4th of July weekend spent with several hundred thousand people at the Fair St. Louis, watching fireworks from a 25th floor balcony and then incredibly severe thunderstorms on July 5th, all combined to thwart my every attempt to get the next part up. Well, that's what I'm claiming anyway. Hope you all had as great a holiday as I did!

* * *

_Chapter 6: Forget your enemies. It's the friends you frustrate that cause all the problems. – Anonymous_  
  
"I don't care if you fire me, I am not working another case with Warrick!" It was so rare to hear Nick Stokes raise his voice above a good-natured laugh, that Grissom was actually startled.  
  
"Problems?"  
  
Nick threw his hands up in disgust, and stormed about the confines of his supervisor's office.  
  
"Yeah, there's problems! Jesus, Gris, if I'd had any idea this stupid bet would lead to this, I would have never agreed to go along in the first place. He's impossible! He's totally incapable of speaking in any semblance of a civil tongue. And that's_ if_ he even speaks!"  
  
Gil Grissom could only shrug in agreement. Like Nick, he'd never imagined that Warrick and Sara would still be carrying on the wager. Now well into the second month, they'd become all but intolerable to work with, so much so that Grissom had assigned them cases on their own until he started getting complaints from the on-scene police officers about their short tempers and uncivil behavior. As a favor to Jim Brass, who had also unloaded on him, he'd decided that pairing them with Nick and Catherine - or, himself - was the safest route.  
  
"All right, Nick," Grissom nodded, finally coming to a conclusion. "I think we've had enough fun. Give me Betsy's cage, will ya?"  
  
Nick reached for the spider's cage, several shelves up behind Grissom's desk and passed it down to his boss.  
  
"What are you gonna do?"  
  
Removing the top, the older man shrugged. "Something I should have done three weeks ago. End this wager."  
  
Before he was able to continue, Greg, agitated above and beyond his usual turmoil, flung open the office door, jerked himself inside, then carefully shut the door. He gave Nick a quick nod then approached Grissom's desk stiffly.  
  
"Okay, I don't ask favors very often, but we, the lab techs of the LVPD, are revolting," he said in total seriousness.  
  
Nick choked on his laughter and even Grissom's dour face broke into a grin. "Yes, you are, but why bring this up now?"  
  
Vexed, Greg fixed Grissom in his sights. "Oh, that is so lame. That's beneath you. Obviously, I mean, we are in revolt!" he explained, shaking his head, even more agitated by Grissom's and Nick's lack of regard.  
  
Seeing the clear, honest anguish in the frazzled DNA technician, Grissom sobered. "What's wrong, Greg?" he asked, his voice gentle.  
  
Greg composed himself and placed two hands on the desk, leaning forward. "If you don't get Sara and Warrick out of the lab, we, the lab techs, will refuse to process anything. They're down there right now all but chewing each other's heads off. This is the fourth time this week they've done this and we can't think, we can't process, we can't even hear our music when they're doing that." Greg dropped to his knees, pleading with the senior CSI. "_Please_ make them go away!"  
  
Grissom glanced at Nick, who was nodding in sympathy with Greg. "Well, Greg, this is your lucky day. I was just about to end this nonsense."  
  
As he was reaching in to rob Betsy, Catherine burst into the office. "That's it! I've _had_ it! If I see Sara again this shift, I'm going to strangle her!" She slammed the door brutally hard, scaring Betsy and Greg. The spider scooted out of her cage while the tech bolted up off the floor in a near panic.  
  
"Aw, Catherine...." Grissom whined, trying to corral the loose tarantula.  
  
His second-in-command hammered on. "Gil!" she shouted, causing him to just miss capturing the runaway arachnid, "Do something _now!_"  
  
Grissom stood up, took a deep steadying breath and looked Catherine in the eyes. "I was about to do just that when you tornadoed into my office." He caught movement in the corner of his eye. "Nick, there! Get her, will ya?"  
  
Nick jumped to do Grissom's bidding though he wasn't exactly sure either where Betsy was or how to catch her. He had no great love of spiders.  
  
"Look, Catherine, I've had you, Nick, Greg and Brass in here chewing my ass out over Warrick and Sara. Okay, I give up, bet is over."  
  
Greg and Nick sighed with relief while Catherine loudly thanked the CSI gods.  
  
Grissom's solution was interrupted when Warrick and Sara came blasting through his office door. Their verbal battling was still going loud and strong.  
  
"Gris, tell Johnny-Come-Lately here that it's first come, first serve in DNA. He has no right to be pushing my case out of the way! Do you know he threatened Greg with physical harm?"  
  
Warrick frowned, tension evident in every line. "I did not! And you know as well as I do that media cases always take precedence."  
  
"Since when?"  
  
"Since forever, Sara! Jeez, get off Planet Me, will ya?"  
  
"You arrogant, self-righteous –"  
  
"Oh! So, now your true colors are showing! You always have to be right!"  
  
"You always have to be first!"  
  
Grissom had been pushed over the edge. "Enough!" he shouted. Silence was suddenly restored, even the pedestrians in the neighboring hallways became quiet, staring in shock into Grissom's office.  
  
The lead CSI took another steadying breath. "Catherine," he asked quietly, controlled. "Shut the door - gently, this time."  
  
Catherine pushed the glass door closed.  
  
"Warrick, Sara, _sit_," he hissed, indicating the two chairs in front of his desk.  
  
Their eyes still sparking, the two coworkers complied, elbowing each other as they tried to pass between the chairs at the same time. Drawing a breath between clenched teeth, Warrick pulled up and stood tall, motioning with exaggerated politeness for Sara to take the first seat. The willowy brunette glared at him then walked around the chair's far side and slipped into it, avoiding going past Warrick altogether. He returned her evil stare as he seated himself.  
  
"Now, it has been brought to my attention, by virtually everyone, that you two are becoming a bit difficult to work with." Grissom paused, letting his words sink in. "So, I think it's time for –" He paused, a different solution suddenly coming to him. "For the two of you to work together, and leave the rest of us in peace."  
  
Grissom wasn't sure who looked more surprised - Warrick and Sara or Catherine, Nick and Greg but it was definitely the trio who saw the poetic justice in this arrangement. They beamed.  
  
"Nick, Catherine, you two are with me. We've got an attempted heist at the Rio." Grissom smiled paternally at the pair standing by the door. "Sara and Warrick, you two get to travel tonight. A hit and run in Cal-Nev-Ari."  
  
Catherine and Nick chuckled and even Greg looked impressed.  
  
"_What?_" Warrick sniped immediately.  
  
Sara, oddly in agreement with Warrick, added her opinion. "Where the _hell_ is Cal-Nev-Ari?"  
  
"Gee, Sara," Greg chided. "Where do you think?" He was immediately sorry for that when Sara's hand connected sharply with the side of his thigh. He'd thought he was out of range.  
  
Warrick rolled his eyes, snorting, "Yeah, and I'm the one who threatened physical harm?"  
  
"Bite me," Sara snarled at him; Warrick threw her a contemptuous kiss.  
  
"Knock it off," Grissom's voice was a dangerous growl. He fixed the two troublemakers with a hard glare. "The sheriff out there is a friend of mine. I told her I'd send someone. Besides, it's an –" The lead CSI searched for the correct term. "– unusual place."  
  
The combatants paused their griping. Warrick tried to remember if he'd ever been to Cal-Nev-Ari while Sara tried to decide if there really was such a place.  
  
"What?" Grissom finally said. "It's south of Searchlight. You've got maps. Take one of the Yukons - they're fitted out better. It's kind of isolated out there."  
  
Clearly, Warrick and Sara were being dismissed but neither was willing to leave. They traded their first non-confrontational look in days, a mixture of disbelief and trepidation.  
  
"Gris, are you really serious?" Warrick finally asked.  
  
One look from the older man confirmed that indeed, he was quite serious.  
  
Shaking his head, Warrick gained his feet slowly and left the room, shaking his head. Sara was still unwilling to admit she was being condemned to a night in backwater Nevada with Warrick.  
  
She finally stood up abruptly and stared at Grissom. "You realize we're going to kill each other and then you'll have to come and investigate."  
  
"Nah, I'd send Nick or Catherine – or maybe someone from dayshift," he beamed. "Now run along or Warrick will leave without you."  
  
"I should be so lucky," Sara muttered peevishly.  
  
After she was gone, the remaining occupants let out long held breaths.  
  
"Wow," Greg breathed.  
  
Nick chuckled. "Are you sure this is such a great idea?"  
  
Grissom merely fixed the younger man with a patronizing smile. "_You_ want to go with Warrick?"  
  
"Not if my life depended on it. But..."  
  
"But what?"  
  
"Something Sara said...about them killing each other."  
  
Grissom grinned. "As Aristotle said, 'We make war so that we may live in peace'."  
  
"While they're out making war, we get to live in peace," Catherine laughed. "I don't care what they do to each other at this point, I'm just looking forward to one shift free of sniping, growling, yelling, snide remarks and cranky comebacks."  
  
Grissom smiled and gathered his paperwork. As he moved his team's case file, he spotted Betsy cowering in his OUT box.  
  
"Oh, don't worry, Catherine," he said, prodding the spider back into her cage. "You've still got us." 


	7. Chapter 7

Hands Off  
  
Humor  
  
Rating: PG13  
  
Pairing: By default, Warrick/Sara - and, yes, probably the way you're thinking.  
  
Disclaimer: No one is mine. I just like to make them laugh. Or to laugh with them. Okay, yes, and at them.  
  
A/N: Finally, the end! Thanks for all the kind words.

* * *

_Chapter 7: Truth springs from argument amongst friends. – David Hume_  
  
Catherine Willows leaned back in the diner's booth, well satisfied with the breakfast she had just devoured. It had been a long time since she'd eaten so much at the end of a shift.  
  
The again, it had been a long time since she'd known such peace and harmony during a shift, either.  
  
"Man, I gotta admit, that was just the best breakfast _ever_." Nick, equally replete, rubbed his belly,  
  
Even Gil Grissom was more relaxed and happy than he had been at the beginning of the night. "Yeah, I never thought I could eat that many waffles and not feel guilty. Good bacon, too," he added, wiping the last trace of maple syrup from his lips.  
  
The three CSIs had dragged along their devoted DNA tech this morning and the young man had put them all to shame, ordering not one, not two, but three Best-of-the-West breakfast specials - three eggs, three flapjacks, three sausage links, three slices of thick-cut bacon, and a side of three- fruit salad. Greg had wanted to keep the three theme going, so had ordered appropriately.  
  
"I am so stuffed," the lanky young man muttered, his eyes half closing. "I don't think I can move."  
  
"Well, buddy, then we'll just leave you here." Nick chuckled. "By the way, our waitress has been making eyes at you all morning." Nick pointed to a cute, petite brunette with a heart-shaped face. Greg immediately sat taller and adjusted his green and purple striped rugby shirt.  
  
Catherine laughed. "Oh yeah, that helped."  
  
The four companions lapsed into silence, each contemplating the exquisite success of the previous shift. They had completed their case at the Rio with time to spare. They then had returned to the peace and harmony of the lab and managed to tie up the loose ends on four other cases plus catch up on all their paperwork.. In a unified show of gratitude for the harmony, the lab techs had chipped in and bought the entire graveyard shift pizza which was delivered at the perfect time of 2am. In Las Vegas, anything could be had for a price.  
  
But as dawn approached, Sara and Warrick had yet to return from their excursion to tiny Cal-Nev-Ari. Grissom had received a call from Sara about the time the rest of the CSIs were gorging themselves on pizza. She explained that things were going, in her words, "adequately" and that she and "that pigheaded S-O-B you chained me to" should be back at base by the end of shift. However, three hours later, Warrick had checked in. Their departure was now in doubt since, in his words, "the harpy who insisted on driving" had lost the SUV's keys. Grissom was in tears by the time the call ended, and after hanging up, broke into full blown laughter like he hadn't in years.  
  
So by the end of shift, Sara and Warrick still hadn't returned and the others decided a peaceful breakfast was well deserved. Grissom had even agreed to foot the bill.  
  
As he pulled his wallet from the inside pocket on his windbreaker, the lead CSI sighed contentedly and asked the others, "Everyone ready?"  
  
Three heads bobbed in the affirmative and the group made a lazy if boisterous exit from the diner, leaving the cute waitress with a heavy tip and Greg's phone number. As they traveled back to the lab, Catherine, Greg and Nick offered suggestions for ways to send Sara or Warrick or both away for the next several nights, thereby continuing the tranquility.  
  
"Don't worry, the wager is over. I'll give you guys back your money and tell our dynamic duo to go home and relax," Grissom paused, pulling his Tahoe back into the lot. He rolled the truck in next to one very dusty Yukon.  
  
Catherine's blue eyes took on a delighted glint. "Think they're back?" she asked, climbing out of the Tahoe. Nick and Greg were already inspecting the bigger SUV.  
  
"Must be them – that Yukon wasn't here when we left.,"Grissom agreed.  
  
Greg peered into the passenger window. "We've got two Skittles wrappers and a half empty 20 ounce Mountain Dew in the front seat."  
  
Nick nodded, checking out the driver's side. "That'd be Sara. And the four empty coffee cups are probably Warrick's. Man, I hope they clean this thing up before they leave."  
  
Grissom and Catherine waited at the building's doors while Nick and Greg ran to catch up. The quartet laughed their way toward Grissom's office, surprising the dayshift which was now on duty, with their high spirits and bright smiles.  
  
Gil inhaled deeply. "There is nothing that could ruin this morning for me. Not one thing."  
  
However, he was unprepared to see Warrick standing nervously outside his office. Grissom slowed, the others behind him nearly crashing into him. He motioned for them to be quiet and turned back toward Warrick. The tall, dark man appeared for all the world, like he was....standing as lookout? 

"Warrick?"  
  
The younger CSI jumped a foot, losing his grasp on whatever cool he had. He recovered quickly, moving away from the door, a broad, if forced, smile crossing his face.  
  
"Hey, _Gris_, I was...ah, just looking for you." His rather loud emphasis on 'Gris' was difficult to miss.  
  
Warrick met him several steps from the office door. Grissom was instantly intrigued. One thing he had learned was to listen to the evidence...and this evidence was telling him something was most certainly amiss.  
  
"Sara here?" he asked, quirking his right eyebrow. Warrick turned distinctly nervous again.  
  
"Um, yeah, sure, she's...ah....in the locker room, I think. So, ah, where've you guys been? We thought you had all left," he remarked, his own words sounding lame even to him.  
  
Nick and Greg followed the exchange intently but Catherine broke into a slow, sly smile.  
  
Grissom adopted his curt, no-nonsense persona. "We were at breakfast. Where were you?" he asked pointedly.  
  
Catherine was sure Warrick blushed.  
  
"Um, well, we were looking for the keys." he paused, growing even more uncomfortable. When the senior CSI made no comment, Warrick added, unnecessarily, "We found them."  
  
"Obviously," Grissom smirked. "How'd the case go?"  
  
Warrick seemed to relax slightly as the conversation moved into familiar territory. "Oh, good, it was good. I mean, it was bad, but we've got everything." Warrick rubbed the back of his neck. "Um, it wasn't really a hit-and-run...more like a hit-and-fly."  
  
"A hit-and-_fly_?" Grissom took a step forward.  
  
Warrick, his personal space invaded, backed up a step. "Yeah, Cal-Nev-Ari has 300 residents and 100 planes. People use them like cars and commute into LA or Las Vegas or wherever. The guy was mowed down by a single-engine Cessna as it was taxiing."  
  
"Really?" Grissom forced Warrick back another step, enjoying his colleague's intense discomfort.  
  
"Um, yeah, so...messy, very messy," the younger man continued, his words coming in a staccato rather than his usual smooth tones. "Blood everywhere, limbs all over....took awhile to gather everything...."  
  
Warrick was unsure what Grissom was waiting for so he kept talking, hoping to break the man's steely, unwavering stare. "Worst accident they'd ever had there but the sheriff said she'd seen suff like this in the Midwest? Farm accidents, combines... " Warrick inhaled nervously. "Not really sure what a combine is but..." He paused, eyeing Grissom but the supervisor seemed intent to prolong his discomposure. Warrick rambled on, his usually deep voice fluctuating in timbre. "Nice lady, that sheriff...said she knew you as a kid? In Marina Del Rey...you used to chase her with dead seagulls?" Warrick laughed nervously. "Had a hard time picturing that..." He gulped. "Not you with a dead seagull but you as a kid." He was shocked that he'd said that. He could feel his cool melting away with every syllable. "I mean, you as a kid _with_ a dead seagull....not just as a kid...."  
  
"Interesting." Grissom crowded Warrick and again the younger man backed up. Catherine snickered, drawing attention from Nick and Greg.  
  
"What's going on?" Nick hissed.  
  
Catherine laughed into her hand, shaking her head. "I have such a bad feeling about this...just watch."  
  
Grissom stuck a finger into Warrick's chest. "Your shirt's not buttoned right," he pointed out, causing Warrick to jump again, glancing down at himself. He was horrified to realize the buttons were, indeed, mismatched.  
  
"So, the body's been released, you found the plane, and tied up all the loose ends?" Grissom persisted.  
  
After a beat, Warrick answered. "Yeah, yeah....all tied up nice and neat, boss. We even filed all the paperwork." He was still trying to decide which action would cause less scrutiny from his coworkers – re-buttoning the shirt or ignoring it completely.  
  
Grissom finally broke into a grin, backing the taller man up another step. "Why are you so nervous, Warrick?"  
  
"Got it!" Sara Sidle suddenly bounded out of Grissom's office. She was so intent on counting the money in her hand, she didn't notice that Warrick wasn't alone. "Wow, can that spider move when she's upset. Here's your half," she smiled, stuffing bills into Warrick's hands. It wasn't until she bounced up to lay a passionate kiss on her coworker's neck that she noticed their audience. "Oh..." she muttered, coming back to Earth with a distinct thud. "_Oh_..."  
  
Catherine lost control, began to laugh so hard she had to hide her face against the wall. Greg and Nick, their jaws slack with shock, found themselves unable to move at all. Grissom leaned forward, his wise blue eyes narrowed, his boyish face alight with a knowing grin.  
  
"You two lost the bet at the same time?"  
  
With her fair skin, Sara could blush faster than anyone else. She turned immediately red, confirming Grissom's suspicion. He stepped forward, leaning in confidentially, his face turning serious. The pair in front of him was already taking a step back in unison.  
  
"That's quite a coincidence."  
  
He moved in again and they retreated once more.  
  
"And you know how I feel about coincidences."  
  
The two winced, getting ready for an infamous, if rare, Grissom Grilling, but to their amazement, Gil Grissom broke into a sympathetic smile. "Just keep it off company time from now on."  
  
Warrick and Sara exhaled gratefully, allowing their boss to pass between them on his way to his office.  
  
"Wow, I never saw this coming, I gotta tell you," Catherine added, still chuckling. She started to follow in Grissom's wake, but paused as she passed Sara. "We have got to go out for a drink," the older woman murmured, throwing a look at Warrick. "I've _got_ to hear all about this....hit-and-fly case. Sounds way more interesting than any case I've ever been on."  
  
Sara gave Catherine a lopsided grin, unable to miss Warrick rolling his eyes and she sobered immediately.  
  
Catherine laughed again, patted Warrick on the shoulder and made a hasty retreat into Grissom's office.  
  
Nick, recovering from his shock, chuckled. "Man, you ol' sly dog," he said, punching Warrick a little too hard in the arm. "I'm gonna be the third wheel around here forever."  
  
Sara snorted. "You've always got Greg," she taunted.  
  
"Oh, funny!"Nick forced a laugh before breaking into a genuine smile. "I wonder if Grissom would team me up with Marcia from dayshift. She's a babe." He shook his head, still smiling, and turned back around toward the locker room. "I'd say have fun, but I guess you guys already have!" Stokes waved goodbye, chuckling again.  
  
"Well, that's a future heartbreak in the making." Warrick shook his head. "Wait until he finds out Marcia is dating David."  
  
"David? Coroner David?" Sara was stunned. "How do you know that?"  
  
Greg piped up, his eyes twinkling in amusement. "Oh, everyone knows that. Lab gossip."  
  
Warrick shrugged in concurrence. Sara shook her head. "I am so far out of the loop."  
  
"Oh, not any more!" Greg began to laugh loudly. "You are going to be the lab gossip headliners!" He fixed the two with a gunfighter's stance, aiming his index fingers at them "Wait until they hear this one."  
  
Warrick took a threatening step forward. "Greg..." he growled.  
  
"Hey! Settle there, big guy. I know nothing!" Greg placated, throwing up his hands in defense. "Or not much. And I really don't even want to know where this occurred. I just know that I am only traveling in the Tahoes from now on."  
  
Greg spun around and ended up facing away from them. He began to strut down the hallway rapping 'Backseat Love'. Warrick laughed.  
  
"What?" Sara elbowed him.  
  
"Ah, nothing....just figures Sanders would follow a group called N.E.R.D."  
  
Sara nodded. "Appropriate...So, um, now what?"  
  
"Well," Warrick finally relaxed into his usual easy grin, wrapping an arm around Sara's shoulders. "I've come into a windfall - how about I take you to breakfast?"  
  
She laughed at that, sliding her arm around Warrick's waist. "I must admit, I have worked up quite a hunger." She gave him a tight squeeze, laughing as he snorted.  
  
As they made their way down the hall of their workplace, Sara murmured, "Ya know, after breakfast we could go back to my place and lose the bet some more."  
  
Warrick's rich laughter echoed. "Definitely good odds on that."


End file.
